There is a saying, often repeated by statesmen and often recorded by publicists, which embodies the direct object of the war we are now unhappily compelled to wage,—an object sometimes avowed in European wars, and more than once made a watchword in our own country: “Indemnity for the past, and Security for the future.” Such should be our comprehensive aim,—nor more, nor less. Without indemnity for the past, this war will have been waged at our cost; without security for the future, this war will have been waged in vain, treasure and blood will have been lavished for nothing. But indemnity and security are both means to an end, and that end is the National Unity under the Constitution of the United States. It is not enough, if we preserve the Constitution at the expense of the National Unity. Nor is it enough, if we enforce the National Unity at the expense of the Constitution. Both must be maintained. Both will be maintained, if we do not fail to take counsel of that prudent courage which is never so much needed as at a moment like the present.
Two things we seek as means to an end: Indemnity for the past, and Security for the future.
Two things we seek as the end itself: National Unity, under the Constitution of the United States.
In these objects all must concur. But how shall they be best accomplished?
The Constitution and International Law are each involved in this discussion. Even if the question itself were minute, it would be important from such relations. But it concerns vast masses of property, and, what is more than property, it concerns the liberty of men, while it opens for decision the means to be employed in bringing this great war to a close. In every aspect the question is transcendent; nor is it easy to pass upon it without the various lights of jurisprudence, of history, and of policy.
Sometimes it is called a constitutional question exclusively. This is a mistake. In every Government bound by written Constitution nothing is done except in conformity with the Constitution. But in the present debate there need be no difficulty or doubt under the Constitution. Its provisions are plain and explicit, so that they need only to be recited. The Senator from Pennsylvania [Mr. Cowan] and the Senator from Vermont [Mr. Collamer] have stated them strongly; but I complain less of their statement than of its application. Of course, any proposition really inconsistent with these provisions must be abandoned. But if, on the other hand, it be consistent, then is the way open to its consideration in the lights of history and policy.
If there be any difficulty now, it is not from the question, but simply from the facts,—as often in judicial proceedings it is less embarrassing to determine the law than the facts. If things are seen as they really are and not as Senators fancy or desire, if the facts are admitted in their natural character, then must the constitutional power of the Government be admitted also, for this power comes into being on the occurrence of certain facts. Only by denying the facts can the power itself be drawn in question. But not even the Senator from Pennsylvania or the Senator from Vermont denies the facts.
The facts are simple and obvious. They are all expressed or embodied in the double idea of Rebellion and War. Both of these are facts patent to common observation and common sense. It would be an insult to the understanding to say that at the present moment there is no Rebellion or that there is no War. Whatever the doubts of Senators, or their fine-spun constitutional theories, nobody questions that we are in the midst of de facto Rebellion and in the midst of de facto War. We are in the midst of each and of both. It is not enough to say that there is Rebellion; nor is it enough to say that there is War. The whole truth is not told in either alternative. Our case is double, and you may call it Rebellion or War, as you please, or you may call it both. It is Rebellion swollen to all the proportions of war, and it is War deriving its life from rebellion. It is not less Rebellion because of its present full-blown grandeur, nor is it less War because of the traitorous source whence it draws its life.
The Rebellion is manifest,—is it not? An extensive territory, once occupied by Governments rejoicing in allegiance to the Union, and sharing largely in its counsels, has undertaken to overthrow the National Constitution within its borders. Its Senators and Representatives have withdrawn from Congress. The old State Governments, solemnly bound by the oaths of their functionaries to support the National Constitution, have vanished; and in their place appear pretended Governments, which, adopting the further pretension of a Confederacy, have proceeded to issue letters of marque and to levy war against the United States. So far has displacement of the National Government prevailed, that at this moment, throughout this whole territory, there are no functionaries acting under the United States, but all are pretending to act under the newly established Usurpation. Instead of the oath to support the Constitution of the United States, required of all officials by the Constitution, another oath is substituted, to support the Constitution of the Confederacy; and thus the Rebellion assumes a completeness of organization under the most solemn sanctions. In point of fact, throughout this territory the National Government is ousted, while the old State Governments have ceased to exist, lifeless now from Rebel hands. Call it suicide, if you will, or suspended animation, or abeyance,—they have practically ceased to exist. Such is the plain and palpable fact. If all this is not rebellion, complete in triumphant treason, then is rebellion nothing but a name.